


Siren Song

by princesskay



Series: The Pirate and the Mermaid Saga [1]
Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Fantasy, First Time, M/M, Mpreg, Twincest - Not Related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:46:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1407097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom Trumper, a pirate, and a captain of his own ship, doesn't believe in fairy tales or myths. But a chance encounter with a very strange, enchanting boy is about to change everything he thought he knew. . . Because, mermaids only exist in fairy tales, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to TH TV episode four, season two, "Hanging with Ingrid and Klaus," for spawning the idea. . .

Some people claimed the island was mystical, other's that it was cursed. The natives seemed to see the tales as a blessing, as it brought in more tourists or treasure-seekers, but a few actually considered the legends to be gospel truth. The stories were told 'round campfires to children, and circulated through the halls of the bars and brothels, flowing as thickly as the alcohol and lust. If a person stayed on the island long enough, they claimed, one would go crazy.

Thomas Trumper – known as Tom to his friends, 'Captain' to his crew members – had never seen any one person twice upon visiting the island. The place was a constant stream of newcomers; maybe the island didn't bring them the fortune they wanted, maybe they were scared away. Tom hardly cared. The island was merely a stopover point to find supplies, and a warm, female body for one night, before his beloved ship, the _Virtuosa,_ pulled up the anchor and moved on. 

Tom had once been a merchant by trade. At the young age of twenty, he left his home in Germany for the great, mystical seas. He had always been drawn to the vast, open arms of the ocean, had never really felt comfortable on dry land. He purchased a ship with what little money he had and set out to make his fortune. Only three years later, however, his best friend and partner had been killed by pirates, their ship destroyed, their supplies taken. Tom was left floating a piece of drift wood, ready to die, when the crew of a quite different pirate ship. They took him in, fed him, trained him, treated him as one of there own. And so he became a pirate, rather than a merchant, and took to the unscrupulous profession much better than he ever had to being a salesman. The captain trusted him above every other crew member, and when he passed, he left Tom in charge of his ship, the  _Virtuosa._ It was now as if Tom's previous life had never happened; the trading and selling, the scraping and scratching to make a living. He was a pirate now, and he took what he wanted. 

And while many captains didn't weigh anchor anywhere near this island, Tom wasn't afraid of anything. He had his share of superstitions, but the tales this island harbored were rooted in false evidence and fear.

Tonight, Tom found himself wandering the mud-slick streets, eyeing each crooked, crumbling establishment with a wary gaze. He had stepped into several bars and brothels tonight, only to leave disappointed. Nothing seemed to be catching his eye and holding his interest, whores or drinks. He was restless and itching for a longer satisfaction than only an hour or two; perhaps he had been at sea too long, deprived of the things a man instinctively needed.

The night was progressing quickly. The sky descended into a clear, dark blue, pinpointed by the twinkling stars and the chalky white orb of a full moon. A strange wind blew in from the sea, rattling the trees and shutters as if a storm were coming. Tom hadn't intended upon staying longer than a night on the island, but the wind heralded an even stronger breath from the sky. Perhaps it would be safer to stay. . .

Tom was hardly paying attention as he walked. One hand rested casually on the hilt of his sword while the other swung at his side. He noted each passerby, but didn't linger long on the gaunt, empty faces. Most of the island's inhabitants hardly looked fit for a full day of labor, much less a fight with someone as tall and broad-shouldered as Tom. He carried enough marks of a captain to keep even the most able man at bay. No one would be causing trouble tonight.

Tom let his steps carry him away from the shops, bars, and whorehouses, and down to the sandy beach, where thick, foamy tides were crashing against the sand. The scent of the sea was thick and familiar, a soothing balm to his disquieted mind. Tom walked to the edge of the ocean and sank to his seat on cool, abundant sand. He glanced around to see if he were alone, then slipped his boots and socks off to rest his feet into the sloshing tide. Repressing a sound of satisfaction, he dug his toes into the wet sand and and closed his eyes while the water caressed him. His racing mind slowed to a crawl as he focused on the sounds of the ocean and the breeze that rushed in with the tide. It was as calming as a mother's lullaby, if not more. . .

Suddenly, a sharp sound pierced the veneer of calm that Tom had created about his mind. His eyes flew open and he started to his feet. His hand was on his sword instantly, drawing it halfway from the scabbard as he scanned the beach with wide eyes. He stood still, ears straining for the tiniest sound. He had just begun to think he was imagining things when it came again. This time, the sound lengthened, and Tom realized it was a wail. It was stronger this time, rising across the beach to vibrate hollowly in Tom's ears. He withdrew his sword completely and brandished it in each direction. His eyes scoured every inch of the shoreline, but he could see little in the darkness expect for endless sand and the crashing tide.

His fingers stiffened around the handle of his sword as the cry cut off, only to start up again several moments later. It hung on, wavering to a final, breathy note that made Tom's spine tingle. He swallowed hard, having the silly urge to call out to see if anyone were there. If someone were toying with him, or playing a very bad trick, the last thing he wanted was for that person to know his location. He would move quietly and quickly, and attack  _them_ instead. 

Tom kept a firm hand on his sword as he stuffed his socks and boots back on his still wet feet. The sound of crying seemed to be coming from his left, a long way down the shore. He moved on the balls of his feet, darting across the sand with practiced silence. The sound was becoming persistently long and sharp, like a siren that filled his head. It was hypnotic, sad and longing, as if some poor creature were dying of a broken heart. Tom was compelled to follow that sound, find it's source, make that horrible wailing stop.

Tom progressed down the beach only a few minutes longer before something began to take shape on the sand ahead of him. It was a dark figure, huddled on the ground, one hand lifted toward the sky. The long fingers were clearly silhouetted by the moon, and Tom could see that they twitched and grasped at the sky as if to hold onto something. Tom's sense of foreboding descended into one of concern. The figure was slight and feminine; pirate, or no, he was still a man, and a man cared for women. He had to help her.

Tom lowered his sword but chose not to sheath it as he broke into a run. His boots kicked up sand in his hasty dash toward the helpless figure writhing on the sand. He quickly closed the distance between them and dropped to his knees next to a pale, nearly lifeless figure. The head thrashed to the side and Tom glimpsed huge, dark eyes through a mess of tangled, black hair. The hand waving at the sky arched toward him, clamping onto his forearm. The skin was cold and clammy.

“H-help. . .”

The single word wavered from full, bloodless lips, causing Tom's stoic heart to tremble.

“It's okay.” Tom thrust his sword back into the scabbard in order to cradle the poor creatures head, “Are you hurt?”

The dark head in his grasp thrashed back and forth, but the grasping hands strained closer.

“Help m-me. . .”

“What's wrong?” Tom insisted, perplexed as to what was paining the poor thing.

He looked up and down the body, searching for any sign of blood or other trauma, and pulled back with a gasp. Though the figure was long and delicate, the creature in his arms bore no other signs of femininity. The chest was flat, and down lower, Tom glimpsed male genitals between tightly clenched thighs. It was a boy, though far too beautiful to be believable.

A shuddering breath rattled through the boy's lungs. His eyes rolled back in his head and he went limp in Tom's arms.

“Fuck.” Tom muttered, staring helplessly at the motionless boy.

Tom was not a good Samaritan by anyone's standards. He wasn't even a good person. He was a pirate, and he did unthinkable things. He stole, and pillaged, and killed, and cursed the name of God every single day. He didn't do anything for anyone but himself. . . But now, as he stared at the pale, yet stunning face of the helpless boy in his arms, he simply didn't have the heart to leave such a pretty, vulnerable creature, alone on this desolate, haunted beach to die.

With a grunt of disbelief, he shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it about the boy's naked body. As gently as possible, he lifted the lifeless form into his arms and started off down the beach.

He had reserved a room at a nearby tavern that doubled an as inn. Because he liked to stay away from large crowds, and preferred to be left alone, the tavern was not far from the site on the beach where he had found the boy. It was set away from the others, perhaps in worse condition than most, but the room was neat and had all he needed for a good night's rest.

No one hardly looked twice when Tom shouldered his way through the front door with the bundle in his arms. Most were too drunk to care, or had stayed on the island long enough to realize such occurrences were commonplace. Tom mounted the stairs to the second floor, where the rooms were located and quickly made his way to the room number he recalled the owner of the establishment giving him. He pushed his way inside and laid his burden carefully on the bed. The boy hardly weighed much, but the long walk from the beach had Tom a little short of breath.

Tom shut and locked the door, then hurried back to the still form of the naked boy. He gently pushed wet locks of hair back from the pale cheeks and looked down at the soft, pretty face for the first time. Tom had noticed light brown eyes earlier, but the lids were now shut, displaying long, thick lashes against high, rounded cheekbones. The jaw was soft and smooth, chin round with a tiny beauty mark just beneath the lower lip. The nose was perfectly proportion with the rest of the face, turned up just a bit to indicate youthfulness. Tom didn't think he had ever seen such a beautiful boy child.

He could only imagine what had brought the boy to the edge of the sea, naked and so distraught. Had he been turned out by an islander? Cast overboard by some ship? The island was full of dark, dank personalities, and the sea even more so. With all his experience, Tom didn't even attempt to draw conclusions.

With a sigh, Tom turned to rest his knees on his elbows. His scrubbed his hands over his face, contemplating what he was to do with the boy. Someone could be looking for him. And though Tom had never been opposed to bringing new crew members onto the  _Virtuosa,_ the boy hardly looked like pirate material. With his delicate body and womanly features, he would be laughing stock of the crew, teased and prodded mercilessly by much more calloused, rugged men. Tom couldn't expose a helplessly, vulnerable boy to that kind of life. 

Tom turned sharply when there came a gasp from the bed behind him. The boy's eyes were open wide and his long, white fingers were grabbing at Tom's arm again.

“It's okay.” Tom turned to hush the frantic gasps coming from the boy's throat, “It's okay. You're safe.”

The boy blinked rapidly and drew in gulping breaths, “I. . .I need. . .”

He began, his face twisting with distress. His lips moved rapidly with little sound as he tried to articulate.

Tom frowned in confusion, but laid a soothing hand on the boy's cheek, “It's okay.”

The boy tried to push himself upright, but collapsed against the pillow. He reached up to lay a death grip on Tom's wrist, holding Tom's hand tighter to his face. His closed briefly and he murmured, “Yes. . .yes, I need. . .”

“You need what? What is it?” Tom asked.

The boy bit at his lower lip and pushed Tom's coat away from his naked body. Tom's eyes widened when he saw that the previously soft manhood was growing quickly, throbbing red against his white stomach.

“Please. . .” The boy moaned, grasping at Tom's chest, “Please, I. . .I. . .Oh God. . .It hurts.”

Tom withdrew in horror as he quickly put together what the boy meant for him to do. It made little sense, seeing as how Tom had found the boy lying on the beach crying less than an hour ago.

“No, no, don't go!” The boy cried, his eyes going wide, “Please, please!”

Tom sank back to the edge of the bed as the boy's nails sank into his wrist and neck, pulling him back down.

“What hurts?” Tom asked, gently, trying to see if he had misunderstood.

The boy panted, his face etched with pain, “Ooohh. . .everything. . .It burns!”

Tom looked up and down the boy's arching, twisting body, searching for any sign of injury, only to become riveted on the growing size of the boy's throbbing member. It was the only change, the only that could possibly be  _burning_ him. 

“What can I do?” Tom asked, carefully.

“Please, oh, please. . .” The boy cried, frantic now, “Your hands. . .mouth. . .anything. . .”

“Jesus Christ.” Tom swore under his breath, looking away. He drew in several calming breaths, wondering if the island really was fucking his mind. Maybe he was imagining this crazy situation.

“Please, I'm going. . .going to. . .” The boy panted, fingers pulling hard on Tom.

Tom found himself inches away from the boy's pained face, so close to could feel the hot, frantic breaths gusting across his cheeks. The life had come back into the boy's face; he was flushed now, instead of pale, and his lips were nicely pink and plump. Enticing, was the word. He was gorgeous, and Tom wanted to touch, just a little. A little pet across the flat, quivering stomach, or the pretty arch of his hipbone. Those eyes were drawing him, slowly molding him in their grasp with seemingly no effort at all.

“Please, I'll die if you don't. . .” The boy added, his voice soft, weak.

Tom took a start, “What? Die?”

The boy swallowed hard, as if fighting for a breath of air. His large, liquid eyes gazed up at Tom like two charms, pulling Tom into a hypnotic trance. Tom laid a hand on the boy's side and shuddered when he felt how warm and soft the skin was. Desire trickled down into his core, igniting a tingle and an ache. He slid closer, lips brushing up against the boy's.

“Yes. . .” The boy murmured, turning his mouth up against Tom's.

Their lips met softly and Tom tasted something sweeter than wine or the most delectable of fruits. He pressed in closer, crushing their mouths together in a slow, enduring kiss. Their tongues met in between, pressing heat and saliva back and forth until the boy groaned and arched beneath him.

Tom came up for a breath of air, his head spinning. He felt as if he were not in complete control of his faculties, like a puppet on a string.

The boy gazed up at him in relief, “I am Billa.”

“B-Billa. . .” Tom stumbled of the short name. Earlier, he might have been confused as to whether it was a boy's name or a girl's name, but now all he could think was that it was pretty, and perfect.

“What's your name?” Billa murmured.

Tom paused for a second, so entranced by Billa's gaze, that he nearly forgot his own name. He shook his head, “It's Tom.”

“Tom. . .” Billa echoed, as if savoring Tom's name. He gave a pleased sigh, “Tom, please. . . Tell me you're going to do the most wonderful things to me.”

Tom swallowed against a dry throat, then nodded, “Yes. . .yes, I am.”

A smile twitched at Billa's lips, “Kiss me again.”

Tom eagerly pressed his mouth back up against Billa's, tasting him inside and out with hungry caresses of his lips and deep licks of his tongue. Billa returned the kiss with vigor, regaining his strength with each passing second. He turned his hips to the side, nudging his hard cock up against Tom's thigh.

“Please. . .” He murmured as their lips parted.

Tom reached down and laid a soft hand against the hard, throbbing flesh. He felt the breath flee his lungs as he curled his fingers about the shaft and gave it a firm pull. Billa arched and gave a squeal, his eyes widening in pleasure.

“Oh Tom!”

Tom lifted his head and turned his gaze the long, hard flesh caught up his fist. The tip was oozing arousal, stark white against the aching, pulsing red. He suddenly had the intense urge to taste it, though he had never previously imagined the gushing, sticky fluid would be satisfying. 

Billa urged his hips upward, moaning loudly when Tom's hand stilled against his dick.

Tom slowly bent his head, letting a slow, wavering breath as his lips reached the thick head. He slowly drew his lips around the flesh, sucking gently and drawing the dripping arousal onto his tongue. It was salty and sweet all at once, and he thought it was perhaps the most delicious thing that had ever graced his palate. Billa's pleasured moans only urged him on. He sucked harder, drawing more flesh into his mouth while continuing to jack his hand along the shaft.

Billa's hips arched up sharply and he grabbed onto Tom's dreadlocks, pulling him close.

“Oh God, yes!” He cried, “Tom, please. . .”

Tom sucked more vigorously, drawing his lips over his teeth and riding his wet mouth up and down the length. He pumped Billa to the back of his throat and reached down to fondle full, aching testicles. Billa's body jumped in pleasure and his fingers tore at Tom's hair. His hips moved in needy pulses against Tom's mouth, an almost uncontrollable rhythm. Tom fondled Billa's testicles a bit hard, rolling them about in his palm and stroking back and forth along with crease with his thumb. Each touch was like a shock going through Billa's body, arching his back higher and higher from the bed and causing his hips to rock faster against Tom's mouth. Tom took each thrust in a stride, sucking ardently on the the saliva coated head and shaft.

Billa's aching body took little more urging before Tom felt a hot explosion of wetness against his tongue. The sharp, distinctive taste filled his mouth with hot, thick streams of release, and he swallowed it all in hungry gulps, disappointed when a few drops escaped down his chin. Billa whined and moaned through the entire orgasm, making the most pleased sounds Tom had ever heard. His fingers twined into Tom's hair, pulling so hard it nearly hurt, but not enough to make Tom complain. He was satisfied by Billa's release and the exquisite taste now imprinted in his mouth.

Tom lifted his head when Billa finally went still.

Billa was panting, his cheeks brightly flushed, his eyes shining. He lifted a hand to touch Tom's cheek, “Oh, you are perfect.”

Tom smiled, sleepily. He felt as if he were in a dream; maybe this wasn't happening, maybe it was  _too good_ to be happening. 

Billa's hands began to pull at Tom's clothes, getting his shirt open and placing searching hands against Tom's naked flesh. Tom started, as if from a slumber, and hurried to assist Billa's hands in getting himself unclothed. He threw the shirt aside and unbuckled his belt, allowing the big, metal buckle and his sword to clatter to the floor. The rest of his clothes went in quick succession until he was naked to Billa's questing fingers. He drew in a sharp breath when Billa laid a hand on his dick, feeling out the shape and size with a curious and pleased touch.

“You're big.” Billa murmured, casting big, blinking eyes up at Tom.

“Too big to fit in your pretty body?” Tom questioned, reaching up to touch Billa's cheek and stroke against his lower lip.

Billa shook his head, “Just big enough to fill me up.”

Tom pressed his thumb into Billa's mouth, feeling the velvety inside of his lower lip, the sharp edges of his teeth and the hot pressure of his tongue. A shudder went through him, and he felt his cock start to thrum in earnest.

“Now?” Tom asked, his voice raspy with need, “You want me to put it in you now?”

Billa nodded, breath hitching, “Yes, Tom.”

Tom withdrew his thumb from Billa's lips and stroked briefly at his cheek before saying, “Turn over.”

Billa eagerly rolled onto his stomach and arched his hips up to present himself. His waist was narrow, but tapered out finely to form girlish hips and a tiny, but round, tight ass. Tom laid reverent hands on those smooth, firm globes of flesh, squeezing softly to get a glimpse at the little, pink pucker nestled between them. 

“Ahh, yes. . .” Billa arched like a feline.

Emboldened, Tom squeezed a bit harder, stretching the flesh open to lay the tight hole bare. With a groan, he sank his face to the cleft and breathed in the scent of flowers, mangoes, something unearthly mouth-watering. He groaned softly into the hot crevice and pressed his tongue forward, swirling about the entrance. The flesh clenched tighter with the intrusive touch, but slowly released as Tom teased and stroked with his tongue.

Billa whimpered, “Oh, Tom, please. . .Your fingers.”

Tom ignored Billa's whining and pushed his tongue forward. He moaned when he felt the flesh give way, allowing his tongue to slip inside. Billa's hole was hot and moist, and so tight Tom wondered how he would ever fit inside. He curled his tongue around inside, stroking at the soft inner walls and finding a spot that made Billa shriek and scream.

“Tom, please!” Billa cried, trying to arch away.

Tom lifted his head and dragged Billa's hips back into a bent over position. He pressed his fingers to the wet entrance and pushed inside immediately, causing Billa to cry out sharply. The flesh spasmed around his fingers and clenched tight until he began to slowly push his finger in and out, working the tight muscles open.

Billa moaned, hiding his face in the pillow as Tom fingered in firm, deliberately, causing his hole to gape open with aching need. He could feel the empty space widening inside himself and he needed Tom to fill it.

“Are you ready for me?” Tom asked, his voice ragged with desire.

Billa nodded eagerly, “Yes, yes, oh please, Tom. . .”

Tom withdrew his fingers from Billa's hole and pressed them into his mouth. They tasted so good, like the hot, quivering recesses of Billa's body. He got his fingers wet and pumped that hand over his dick, slicking it with saliva. He pressed the head of his stiff cock up against Billa's entrance and drew in a calming breath. He was shaking with need, his mind so fraught with desire he could hardly think straight. He had never met Billa before tonight, but now, all he could think was,  _I need Billa. I need it. I need it._

With a firm grip on Billa's little hips, he thrust forward, slow and firm. Billa's tight ass took his cock surprisingly well. Tom watched in awe and shivering desire as his cock plunged into the stretched, pink entrance, all the way to the hilt. Billa gasped and moaned, fingers curling tightly around the sheets.

“Yes. . .” He moaned, his voice low and trembling.

Tom paused for a moment, so aroused by the feeling of being clenched inside Billa's tight, hot body that he thought he would explode at that very moment. The intense need to come slowly subsided, and he began to move again, rocking his hips in shallow thrusts against Billa's ass. Billa's long, thin back arched sharply and he pushed back against Tom, hungry for more. Tom fed him more cock, pressing in deeper with each thrust, filling him up, just as Billa had said.

“Oh God. . .” Bill groaned, sides expanding sharply with a deep breath.

Tom moved one hand from Billa's hip to stroke along his sweat lined back, feeling out ridges of vertebrae and the sharp curves of ribs. Billa was very slender and his skin was like wax paper, so thin and delicate, it seemed breakable. The blue veins were visible through white skin, like a map of threads all across his beautiful body. Tom was riveted by every intricate detail of that pattern and the fragile nature of the skin that barely veiled him in flesh.

“Harder!”

Billa's urgent plea broke Tom was his trance and urged his hips to thrust faster.

“Yes, Tom. . .” Billa panted, “Go harder.”

Tom firmed his grip on Billa's hips and picked his pace up a notch. Their bodies slapped together loudly, the sound of flesh on flesh ringing through the room. Heavy breaths punctuated the rhythmic slapping, following by the desperate groans of Billa and the satisfied grunts of Tom. Tom's dick pricked with need as Billa's body quivered around him, seeming to draw him in deeper with each heavy thrust. 

“Oh I need it. . .” Billa moaned, crowding his ass back against Tom.

Tom thrust forward hard, slamming Billa's hips back into place and drawing a strangled cry from his lips.

“Like that?” Tom growled, reaching up to grab Billa by his long, black hair. He tugged Billa head up and breathed loudly in the boy's ear, “You like that?”

“Yes. . .Oh God!” Billa cried, squirming helplessly under Tom's pounding cock.

Tom grabbed Billa's hip once more and pulled Billa's ass down on his cock. A pleased shiver laced his veins when Billa moaned in shock and pleasure. He twisted his fingers deeper into Billa's hair, tugging at the soft strands as he pumped his cock faster, deeper, harder into Billa's open, quivering hole.

The rickety bed began to squeal in protest as Tom joined them with rapid, piston-like thrusts of his hips. He could feel the friction building between them, too hot to handle, but he didn't want to slow down. He was enjoying how Billa jerked and squealed every time Tom seated his cock hard and deep into the soft, yielding heat of his ass. He liked how Billa cried for more as Tom nearly impaled the delicate boy in two with his big, throbbing dick.

“Is that hard enough for you?” Tom demanded between ragged pants.

“Oh, Tom. . .” Billa hung his head and moaned weakly, “Oh, God, yes. . .”

“You want it harder?” Tom threatened, grabbing at Billa's ass to cheek to spread him open as he delivered another punishing fuck.

“Oh my god. . .” Billa groaned, his voice mutilated with desire and pleasure.

“I'll give it to you.” Tom promised.

He let go of Billa's hair and pushed Billa face down into the sheets while keep his ass raised against Tom's thrusts. He pressed a hand to Billa's back, keeping him pinned down as Tom came at his ass as hard as he could. His cock hammered relentlessly into Billa's now compliant and aching ass, rubbing the tender flesh raw and driving the cum from the boy's helplessly flailing, smarting body. Tom could feel Billa jerking and his ass spasming around Tom's dick. His body convulsed beneath Tom's hard blows and a strangled cry rose from his lips.

Tom felt himself let go only moments later, his whole body launching into a pleasure stronger than he had ever experienced. His whole body was washed in ecstasy, and he lost control of his body. He surrendered himself the deep spasms that rattled him to the core and launched his body to the stratosphere of gratification. He released into Billa's ass, shooting loads of cum into the hot, little space until the excess ran down Billa's pale thighs.

Tom pulled out at last, breathing hard. He sank to the sheets next to Billa and put a hand over his face, “Jesus. . .God. . .”

Bill turned onto his back, wincing and whimpering, “Oh god. . .”

Tom reached over to pulled Billa to his side, “Did I hurt you? I'm sorry.”

“No.” Billa shook his head. His eyes were still sparkling, “You did me just how I wanted you to.”

Tom relaxed, “Good.”

They kissed softly, basking in the afterglow of the vibrant orgasm.

Tom pulled back as he recalled a bit of their earlier conversation, before he had been lost to the urge to fuck the life out of Billa.

“Hey, what's this business about you dying?”

Billa's eyes clouded over a bit, but then he shrugged and smiled, “Don't worry about it.” He murmured, placing his hands over Tom's eyes, “Sleep.”

Tom's body went limp against the sheets as his mind instantly drifted into the peace of dreams. He slept, long and hard, dreaming of a boy he found by the ocean, sex he never could have made up. 

When he awoke, he found himself alone, pondering if it had all been a part of a wonderful dream, if the island was playing tricks with his head, or if Billa, that enchanting, mysterious boy, really was real . . .

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

6 months later

 

The sky was a serene blue above the white points of the sails, but Tom could see clouds rolling in ahead of them. By nighttime, the stars would be hidden, and only the moon would be peeking out to give glimpses to the ground below. Though the  _Virtuosa_ had tread many unfamiliar waters with less to go by, Tom still preferred to have the stars as a guide. He hoped that the ship would reach it's destination by night fall. 

“Captain.”

Tom turned from his thoughtful position at the helm to see his second in command, Georg Listing, approaching. Georg gave a mild salute, “Good afternoon, Captain.”

“Afternoon.” Tom replied, giving his own version of a lazy salute.

“You've been staring at that horizon for quite a bit, sir.” Georg replied, clasping his hands behind his back, “You don't s'pose we're lost, do you?”

The question was neither serious nor sarcastic.

Tom and Georg had known each other since the day Captain Bowie had hauled Tom's limp body onto the deck and given him a second chance at life. Tom had been placed in Georg's care until he had regained full health; the two had become fast friends when they were simple, lower class crew members. As Captain and Lieutenant, Tom thought they made a formidable partnership.

“Nope.” Tom shook his head, then added under his breath, “I know exactly where we're going.”

“I'd like to speak freely.” Georg said, stepping shoulder to shoulder with Tom. His expression was thoughtful, if not a bit concerned.

Tom shrugged, “Go ahead.”

Georg hesitated for a moment before asking, “Why, exactly, are we going back to the island?”

Tom chewed at his lower lip, turning that question about in his mind. He had been asking himself the same thing for days, weeks, months. . . .Why did he _want_ to go back to island, when he was sure a spell or some other mischief had been cast upon him upon his last visit? After hours of deliberation, it was the only possible explanation for what he had done that night, six months ago. Billa had placed a spell on Tom. He was some sort of wizard with strange powers, dark arts. . .It had to be. The only other option was that Billa was _not_ real, and that Tom had simply imagined or dreamed the whole thing. It was much better to believe his faculties had been incapacitated rather than that he was losing his mind. 

Tom jarred when Georg cleared his throat. He had nearly forgotten his second was standing there.

“I. . .uh. . .” Tom shrugged, “I have some business to take care of.”

“Business. . .”

“Is it your place to question where this ship goes?” Tom snapped suddenly, turning to glare at Georg.

Georg took a step back, “No, sir. I'm sorry, sir.”

Tom drew in a deep breath and calmed himself, surprised that he had taken to throwing the power of his command at his friend in a way to mask his own weakness.

“No harm, Georg.”

Georg nodded and relaxed. They watched the horizon quietly for a few minutes before Georg said, “I met a girl on the island once, Tom. Most beautiful thing I ever saw.”

“Did you now?” Tom asked, trying to keep his tone even.

Georg nodded, “Never saw her again though.” He sighed, “A real pity. It was like a dream.”

Tom cringed at Georg's comparison. A dream. Or real? He could never be sure. Georg's story only made the confusion broil deeper into his mind.

Georg turned and clapped a hand on Tom's shoulder, “I hope you find who you're looking for.”

As he walked away, Tom could only wonder if it were really that obvious. . .

 

~

 

Tom started awake in his hammock, feeling the waters rock beneath him. His mind was on high alert though he had been in a deep sleep on moments earlier. He heard the familiar, distinctive booms of cannons in the distance, followed by the sound of impact.

He swung his legs over the edge, tipping himself out of the hammock. He landed in a run and rushed to the window of his quarters. Peering outside, he could see that it had progressed to nighttime, and in the distance, the Island was shrouded in smoke and flashes of cannon fire.

“Fuck.” Tom swore, pushing away from the window.

He hurried about the room, finding his boots, jacket, and sword. He was buckling his belt when he heard a pounding at the door.

“Come in!”

Georg burst into the room, pale green eyes wide, “Captain! The island. . .You better get on the deck!”

“I'm coming!”

Tom shoved his feet into his boots and followed Georg out of the room. His heard was pounding wildly, his mind spinning with the possibilities. He was still half asleep, his mind not thinking logically quite yet. An attack on the island? It seemed silly, improbable. There was nothing of great value on this island; it was a cesspool of the unfortunate and downtrodden, the hapless treasure-seekers, the criminals looking for a way to escape the law. There were bars, inns, whores, drinks. . .But nothing the Navy or a pirate ship would be looking for.

Tom raced up the steps to the deck, close on Georg's heels. They burst out into the cool, night air that was heavy with the scent of smoke. Tom could feel the smoke and ash drifting quickly across the sea to coat his throat and eyes.

“Give me the magnifying glass!” Tom ordered, to no one in particular.

Georg quickly produced the scope and Tom held it to one eye, viewing the destruction from a distance. The shoreline and all it's establishments were razed by cannon fire, and farther inland, Tom could see even more smoke rising from burning buildings. People dashed to and fro, some carrying rifles, pistols, or clubs, others simply running for their lives.

Tom swung glass back to the sea and located the ship that was leading the attack. It was rather large, but it appeared old, as if it had been at sea for quite some time. The sails were a mess, some of the rigging crooked. Up above, the black flag, stamped in white cross-bones unfurled to indicate pirates.

Tom knew there was such a thing as honor among thieves. First come first serve. He had done his share of pillaging, taking what wasn't his, claiming his fair share of treasure. But the island was full of innocents, if not the helpless. No one here had the means or weaponry to fight off a vicious attack. It would be a slaughter, a useless, meaningless massacre.

Tom pulled the scope away from his face and shoved it back into Georg's hands.

“Let's go!” He shouted, so that all the crew could hear him, “Get the cannons loaded! Every hand at his post! Now!”

There was a flurry of movement as every crew member rushed to his assigned battle post, obeying their captain without question.

Georg, however, gaped at him, “Tom, this isn't our fight.”

Tom turned a withering gaze on his friend, “It's our fight when a whole island of people are about to get slaughtered. I may be a pirate, Georg, but I am not without mercy.”

Georg dipped his head, “Yes, sir.”

As they closed the distance between themselves and the other ship, Tom went to the armory and loaded a rifle. He stuffed several more cartridges in his pockets and strode back to the front of the ship. Georg's steady hands were on the wheel, his narrowed gaze on the opposing ship.

“Take us in fast.” Tom said, “They may or may not have spotted us by now, but I still hope for the element of surprise.”

Georg gave a short not. Tom was sure Georg still didn't understand why exactly they were engaging the other ship in combat over the drab little island that the _Virtuosa_ crew had no interest in, and Tom wasn't ready to share. He was already conflicted about dragging all his men into a fight, when the real reason Tom wanted to defend the island was to save Billa. He simply couldn't imagine knowing that Billa could be somewhere on that island, injured, or worse, and walking away from the destruction. He had to at least try.

The boom of cannons increased in volume as the _Virtuosa_ neared the other ship. Tom reached out to hold onto something; the seas were starting to rock beneath him, churning with the recoil of cannon fire and the impact of missed targets. Tom shouted orders down to the cannons as Georg brought them around, bringing their cannons to bear on the other ship.

The _Virtuosa_ lurched beneath his feet as the cannons discharged, launching fire at the other ship. Tom gave a grim smile as they made a hit, tearing a hole in the side of the other ship.

It took little time for the other crew to realize they were being attacked. The doors on the side lifted and their own cannons pushed forward in retaliation.

“Keep moving!” Tom pointed Georg forward, “Circle them! Hit them anywhere we can!”

Georg turned the wheel, drawing them in tight circle toward the stern of the other ship. Cannon fire returned in their direction, narrowly missing. A huge waved formed around the impact, splashing a shower of water over the deck. The crew members working the rigging winced beneath the spray, but kept at their post, dragging hard on burning rope.

The two ships circled each other like fighters in the ring, trading occasional jabs. Tom winced when they received and impact, but was relieved to see that the other ship had stopped attempting to attack the island.

With the first surprise attack, the other ship was already injured, and not so ready to put up a fight. They slowly drifted farther and farther away from the lethal cannon strikes of the _Virtuosa._ Tom ordered cease fire and glanced about to take inventory of the ship. They seemed to have come out relatively unscathed, despite the one strike that had pounded the backside.

Tom's head jerked up when he heard a shout from the other ship, carrying across the waves as clear as day.

“Gather as many as you can! We're all gonna be rich, men!”

Frowning, Tom turned to Georg, “What the bloody hell does that mean?”

Georg extended the spyglass, “It's dark, but perhaps you can catch a glimpse?”

Tom took the glass and pressed it to his eye, quickly scanning the dark waters. He could see the other crew members leaning over the edge of the ship with nets and hooks, like that of a whaling ship.

“They're catching something out of the water.” Tom murmured.

“These waters are no treasure trove of sea creatures.” Georg snorted, “It's cursed, for God's sakes.”

Tom shook his head, “No, there's something here. Something they know that we don't. . .”

“Let me see.” Georg insisted.

Tom handed him the spyglass and crossed his arms as Georg scanned the lengthening distance between them and the opposing ship.

Suddenly, he jerked back, “What in God's name?”

“What?” Tom swiped for the spyglass.

“It's. . .it's. . . You'll never believe it.” Georg sputtered, handing Tom the glass.

Tom put the glass to his eye, and had nearly the same reaction as Georg. Across the water, he could see several of the men hauling a net back onto the deck; this time, it held something – a figure, writhing and screaming to be free. But not human. . .No, it had a tail, and fins. . .

“No. . .” Tom shook his head, “No way.”

“You see it to?” Georg asked.

“I've never seen one up close.” Tom murmured, pressing the glass back to his eye.

“They must live in these waters.” Georg replied, in disbelief, “The curse, it's real. . .”

“But not at all what people think.” Tom shook his head.

It struck him then. The other pirates were taking the poor creatures out of their natural habitat, probably to sell, whether for the scales and fins, or the amusement of the rich. Either way, they would never last long out of the water.

“Come on.” Tom said, waving a hand, “Let's try to scare them away.”

“We already tried that.” Georg said.

“No, not the pirates.” Tom shook his head, “The mermaids. We can at least save a few.”

 

~

 

An hour later, the sky was completely dark. Even the moon was hiding it's eyes behind dense clouds.

The other ship was long gone, and with the help of flailing oars and other object, so were the mermaids. Tom had watched in disbelief as shiny, smooth tails flicked above the water and darted off when he sent the useless trinkets he found for projectiles, sailing across the waters.

He was unsure how he had never noticed the beautiful creatures surrounding the island before. The waters seemed to be teeming with them; the moment he scared one off, another popped up in it's place. They were mere flashes of big, dark eyes and long strands of hair before they slipped beneath the surface and swam away, but he was convinced they were the most enchanting beings he had ever laid eyes on.

Tom was a treasure-seeker to be sure, but he couldn't imagine doing harm to the pretty mermaids that lived around the island. He couldn't imagine hauling them in like animals and leaving them to shrivel up and die as he sailed off to the next trading port to make his fortune on the exotic creatures.

“You're a good guy, you know.”

Georg's voice drew Tom from his thoughts. He looked up from the water to see his second in command drawing closer.

Tom shrugged.

“How you ever became a pirate is beyond me.” Georg chuckled, “We're supposed to be heartless, marauding scallywags.”

Tom cocked his head, “This is one treasure I choose to leave in it's rightful place.”

“And now,” Georg said, lifting his chin a notch, “to the real reason you brought us back here?”

Tom sighed, “It may be more complicated now that half the island is destroyed.”

“Shall we make port?”

“For tonight.” Tom nodded, “Tomorrow I'll go inland and see if I can salvage my plan.”

“I'll go with you, then.” Georg suggested.

Tom patted Georg's shoulder, “Perhaps it would be better if you stayed with the rest of the men, my friend.”

Georg looked confused for a moment, then startled when a pounding noise interrupted their conversation. It was coming from down below, outside the ship, as if someone were pounding his fists on the side of the ship.

“Help!”

Tom's took a start, his heart jumping up into his throat when the plea rose from over the side of the deck. Because it wasn't just any cry for help. It was plain as day, and familiar, no way he could be imagining it this time.

“Someone. . .help me. . .”

“Get a rope!” Tom ordered.

Georg left his side to find a rope, and Tom leaned over the edge of the ship, searching the dark waters. In the sparse moonlight, he could see a figure floating by the side of the ship, clinging by fingernails to keep himself anchored to the _Virtuosa._

“Its okay!” Tom called down, “We're going to help you! Just hang on!”

His senses were prickling with excitement and dread. That voice was much too similar to Billa's for it to be a coincidence; it had to be him. . .Tom _wanted_ it to be him because he had been waiting six long months to prove to himself that he wasn't crazy. . .and to find out what Billa had done to him that night. He had been waiting to fall under that spell once more.

Georg returned with a rope and they threw it overboard.

“Grab the rope!” Tom called out.

“I'm hurt. . .I don't know if I can. . .”

The voice was weak and fluttering with tears, belying pain and fear.

“Hold on!” Tom called out, “I'm coming down to get you!”

“Tom!” Georg hissed, reaching out a hand to stop him as Tom shed his jacket and sword, “You don't know who that is! It could be a trick, a spy from the other ship.”

Tom shook his head, “I don't think so.”

He swung his legs over the edge of the ship and grabbed the rope to lower himself down. Keeping his feet planted firmly against the side of the ship, he slowly worked his way down to where the weak form huddled in the water.

“It's okay.” Tom said, holding out a hand, “I've got you.”

The dark head lifted, and big, brown eyes gazed up at Tom as if he were a shining light, a savior. Tom took in the face with a startled gasp, “Billa. . .”

“Tom.” Billa's eyes glistened with tears, “You came for me.”

“Yes, I. . .” Tom struggled to speak with those huge, luminous eyes sucking him in.

Billa reached out for Tom, and Tom slid an arm around his waist. He held on tightly the slight, shivering body as Georg began to pull them back up. They ascension was slow progress, but they at last reached the edge of the ship and Tom passed Billa off to Georg.

“Tom. . .”

He heard Georg's questioning and disbelieving tone as he pulled himself back onto the deck. He turned sharply to see Billa lying on the floor, face pale and languid, arms cradled around his abdomen, tail and fins twitching uncontrollably against the deck.

“What. . .” Tom began, taking a step forward.

Perhaps he really was going crazy. He had found Billa on the beach six months ago, with a complete set of a legs and feet, as a _human boy._ The creature that lay before him now was the kind out of fairy tales and myths. The kind that Tom had so recently gazed upon from a distance, knowing he would never glimpse one at closer range. The kind that was enchanting, alluring, mythical.

Not the kind that Tom touched, kissed, made love to. . .

“Tom. . .” Billa lips moved weakly and he lifted a hand from his middle to reach for Tom, “Tom, help me. . .”

Tom sank to his knees beside Billa's shivering body, “Let me. . .” His voice came out hoarse and he cleared his throat, “Let me see.”

Billa bit his lower lip, his face twisting in pain. He drew his arms away from his stomach to reveal a large cut across his side, gushing blood and looking terribly painful. But the movement revealed something far more shocking, impossible, life-changing.

Tom gaped at the swollen state of Billa's stomach, feeling his world tilt into the range of impossibility.

He was sure now that he was going completely insane, because Billa could not be a mermaid, and he definitely could not be pregnant. . .

to be continued. . .

 


End file.
